


Poetic Justice

by AngelaFaye11



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Physical Abuse, Revenge, Romantic Angst, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaFaye11/pseuds/AngelaFaye11
Summary: "It's poetic really how everything has led us to this moment. Now you're here. And I get to watch the light leave your eyes as everything you care about crumbles around you."
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 35
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of this story, Malcolm has tested for and earned his credentials to carry a firearm while on duty with the NYPD.

**PRESENT DAY**

The sun had all but set in the Catskills and whatever wasn’t already bathed in darkness from the mountains wore the pale blue filter of twilight. Two identical SUVs raced down the winding road at speeds that would’ve made a typical passenger uncomfortable. Malcolm Bright anxiously flipped through a file in his lap, one he’d read a hundred times already. He wasn’t actually reading the pages anyway, merely flipping through them aimlessly, occasionally pausing to look at a photo. It was a failed attempt at passing the time during their long drive from the city.

Dani’s hand reached forward from the back seat, coming to rest on the profiler’s shoulder. The gesture actually brought with it a small amount of comfort. “Hey. Relax. There’s literally two ways out of here and we’re covering both.” 

Malcolm turned his head and offered an affiliative smile, clearly not convinced of the plan’s air-tightness. 

“We’re four minutes from the fork; twelve from the target. We’ll go west, you take the east route,” Gil’s voice echoed through the multiple radios inside the black Suburban. Malcolm nodded in response, as though the Lieutenant could see the gesture from the vehicle in front of them. 

The FBI agent in the driver’s seat, Blake, responded, “Copy that.” 

Malcolm shut the file, the pretense of studying it no longer worth the effort, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. This last week had been brutal. The victims, the investigation, the lack of sleep - even by his standards - was taking a massive toll on him.

“Seriously, Bright. We’re gonna catch him.”

This time he didn’t turn to look at her. He simply gazed down at the file in his lap, the one containing the photos of four new victims, and sighed. 

They approached the fork in the two-lane highway and Malcolm watched as Gil and JT’s Suburban took the left route. 

“Eight Minutes,” JT announced, their car speeding in the opposite direction. 

“Comms check,” Gil ordered. 

“Powell, check.” 

“Clear,” their boss replied. 

“Bright, check.” 

“Clear.” 

Blake repeated the phrase last. 

“Car two comms are go,” Agent Coe, confirmed from Gil’s car. Once the lead car was prepped, Dani checked her weapon, cocked it, and returned it to her holster. 

Bright mimicked the action, addressing both teams as he did, “Remember, Adam Reynolds is not looking to negotiate. He’s in the middle of a psychotic break, and is motivated solely by revenge. Everything he does and will do is focused on one thing: Justice.” 

_For what I did,_ he finished internally.

He knew his teammates were thinking the same thing, but would never say so aloud. Silence permeated both cars, to the point that it was starting to get uncomfortable. Thankfully, that changed when Agent Blake straightened up behind the wheel. 

“Vehicle. Opposite lane. Quarter mile ahead,” he noted. The road was dark enough now that the outline of it was overpowered by the beams shining in their direction. 

Dani leaned as far forward as her seatbelt would allow, examining the headlights coming toward them. She squinted while she tried to make out whether the front end matched the info the DMV had given them on Reynolds’ car. “That’s too big to be a sedan. What is that, a truck? SUV?” 

“Yeah. Looks like it,” Malcolm agreed, as Dani shifted back in her seat. “Seriously, though. Everyone,” he began, addressing both cars on his comms once again, “Don’t assume anything. We may know his M.O., but that doesn’t mean we know how he will resp--”. 

The rest of his sentence was cut off. In an instant, the truck approaching them swerved over the centerline and slammed violently into their SUV. 

The sound of the impact was deafening. The force with which Malcolm’s body flew forward was unbelievable. The seatbelt strained to keep him in place, as his limbs flew forward. He had no time to process what had happened before everything around them fell into chaos and the world turned upside down. They were rolling, flip after flip, down the side of the mountain highway embankment. Glass flew everywhere; the contents of the Suburban bounced within it like clothes in a dryer. The metal of the vehicle shrieked as it bent and smashed with each roll. 

The SUV finally stopped rolling, initially landing on its side. However, it had just enough momentum to slowly fall over onto its top, creaking at first, then landing with a resounding crunch. That was the last sound Malcolm heard, before his vision tunneled and everything faded to black. 

* * *

**ONE WEEK AGO**

Malcolm rushed merrily across the street, a smile stretched tightly from ear to ear. When he reached the sidewalk Gil turned and greeted him with far less enthusiasm. 

The lieutenant took one look at his face and huffed, “You could look a little less excited that there’s been a murder, ya know.” 

“I could,” Malcolm replied, practically bouncing in place, “but we both know I’d be lying.” 

Gil attempted to chide his would-be-son with a glare, but the look did nothing to quell the ball of excitement in front of him. Eventually, he gave up and gestured toward the front door of the building, “Follow me.” 

As soon as they stepped off the elevator, the smell hit Malcolm like a nauseating tidal wave. 

“Yeah,” Gil acknowledged the thoughts he hadn’t actually verbalized.

Bright turned to him as they approached the apartment “So, I take it this is not a fresh body.”

His boss simply shook his head vigorously and very reluctantly walked through the door, taking a noticeable deep breath before entering. 

Malcolm followed, “Do we know time of death?”

“Based on the bloating and slight foaming from the mouth and nose, I’d say four days, maybe five.” Edrisa answered, beaming up at him from her crouched position next to the victim. The profiler nodded, as he walked toward the victim. 

Dani too, had bent down, though her back was to them. She hesitantly leaned closer, examining something very intently, and taking notes on her pad. After a few seconds she stood and turned, both acknowledging their entrance and releasing the breath she’d been holding. “Hey,” she waved, her face scrunched in revulsion.

“Hey,” the profiler chuckled at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the body on the floor. The victim was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She was positioned the same way a body would be in a casket at a funeral. 

_That implies remorse_ , he thought.

Dani interrupted his train of thought. “You’re gonna love this,” she predicted, stepping further out of his way. 

“Why’s that?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

“Um,” Dani pointed deliberately toward the far side of the body, “that.” 

Malcolm’s focus had been on the victim and hadn’t shifted to the surroundings yet. His eyes followed the direction of her finger. As soon as he saw it, he froze. Almost a foot away from the victim’s body was her heart, painstakingly removed and wiped clean. It was cut down the middle and lay separated, the two halves only a few inches apart. Between the pieces, a knife had been deliberately stabbed into the hardwood floor and was standing on its point. Malcolm’s own heart pounded in his chest, as he looked back over the victim’s body. 

_Cleaned._

_Dressed._

He took a slow, deliberate step forward to see her face more closely. 

_Full makeup._

Bile creeped up the back of his throat and he forced it back down. 

_That’s not possible_ , his psyche denied. 

“You okay?” Dani asked, watching him, her brows furrowed. 

Malcolm only partially registered the fact that someone was talking to him. A shrill, high-pitched ringing had filled his ears. He searched for something, any difference in the M.O. that might indicate he was wrong. But, he wasn’t. The realization hit him so hard it took his breath and he wobbled in place for a second, hoping no one else noticed. 

“Bright?” This time the concern in her voice was enough to alert the rest of the room.

Gil approached him, “What is it?” 

“I…” He needed to get out of there, get away from the damning evidence.

“Talk to me, kid,” the lieutenant reached out and grabbed his shoulder, grounding him enough that he could form a coherent response. 

“I need some air,” he replied, hurrying, unsteadily out the apartment door. Thankfully the elevator was still waiting there and the doors opened as soon as he pressed the button. He rushed in, smacking the button several times impatiently. It was only nine floors to the ground, but it felt like an eternity. By the time he made it outside, Malcolm’s stomach was in knots. Luckily, the fresh air helped; it cooled his skin, despite the summer heat and he made his way to the narrow alley beside the building. 

Malcolm paced back and forth, attempting to breathe himself out of the anxiety attack he felt looming. Slow, deep breaths in, through his nose, and long exhales out, through his mouth. 

As he retraced the short space between the adjacent buildings, Dani turned the corner. “Hey,” she repeated, worry dripping off of the greeting this time. “What’s wrong?” 

Malcolm didn’t respond. He looked over at her for a split second before continuing to pace, almost manically. 

“Talk to me, Bright,” Dani begged, “What’s going on?” 

He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. Saying it out loud made it real and that reality wasn’t something he was ready to face. He needed more intel, to be absolutely sure before he spoke. Mid thought, Malcolm stopped and turned toward his partner, “We need to go back to the precinct.” 

“Right now?” She looked up at the building, clearly imagining the reaming they’d receive for leaving an active crime scene. 

“Yes.” 

The urgency with which he spoke the syllable convinced her. That level of desperation wasn’t something he typically showed. She pulled the keys to the precinct’s sedan from her pocket, “I’ll drive.” 

* * *

Silence was never something that bothered Dani. In fact, she’d much rather sit quietly than be forced to partake in painful small talk. One of the things she appreciated about Bright was the fact that he never felt obligated to fill a conversational void. If the discussion wasn’t organic, then it was allowed to rest. Because of this shared mentality, she never felt uncomfortable being in the same space with him. If there was something to talk about, they would. If there wasn’t, then they didn’t

Now, however, as she drove them back to the precinct, she silence was torture. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. That much was obvious. Normally this was the part where he practically vomited every detail to her, trying to talk through whatever it was that was bothering him about the case. Not this time. The entire drive back not a single word was spoken between the two of them. Every few blocks she would glance in his direction out of her peripheral, but he just kept staring blankly out the windshield. 

Bright held the door to the precinct for her, still managing to keep from looking directly at her. When they entered their floor she looked to him for direction, unsure of what he needed here. He gestured toward the conference room and shut the door behind them once they’d entered. Only then did he finally speak. 

“I need you to look up something, a case.” 

Dani tilted her head to the side, questioning, “Okay…” 

Bright shifted his stance, fidgeting nervously, “The problem is, the minute you search this case it’s going to flag the FBI and they’ll likely be here in a matter of hours.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I know this is a lot to ask.” 

She crossed her arms and stared at him, “Yes. It is.” 

“But I need you to trust me. I wouldn’t ask you for this if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary,” his hands were pressed together in front of him, practically praying for her assistance. 

Dani watched him. He was panicking. Outwardly he was doing a halfway decent job of keeping it together. If she didn’t know him like she did, then she probably wouldn’t have seen the signs. His body language was calm, but his eyes were frantic. His breathing was faster than it should be for a situation like this, which meant his heart rate was likely through the roof. Whatever this was, it was serious. 

“If I do this, and the FBI shows up breathing down our necks, you know Gil is going to lose his mind right?” 

A half grin crept up one side of the profiler’s face, “Most likely, yes.” 

“Then tell me why. If I’m about to risk my neck with Gil and the FBI is about to hunt me down just for searching something, then I deserve to know why.” 

“You’re absolutely right,” he nodded his hands opening in front of him, “and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I promise. Just as soon as I’ve checked something.” 

Dani glared at him, shifting her weight to the opposite leg. She stared long enough that he had already broken their eye contact awkwardly twice. Then she took a deep breath, “Fine.” 

Bright’s eyes widened in shock and gratitude, “Thank you,” as the two of them made their way to her desk. 

* * *

Once she had logged in and opened the database, Dani stood and offered Malcolm her seat. It seemed easier than being the middleman. She’d been standing over his shoulder for twenty minutes now while he clicked and sifted through numerous files, photos, and reports. He hadn’t spoken a word since he’d thanked her for her assistance. 

A figure, marching down the windowed hallway toward the bullpen door, caught her attention and she tapped him on the shoulder, “Incoming.” 

Malcolm exited the database quickly, as the two of them watched their boss stomp toward them, JT trying to keep pace behind him. 

Gil pointed at both of them emphatically, “Conference room. Now.” 

Dani swallowed and led the way back into the room. She immediately walked over to the wall and leaned against it. Bright stood at attention next to the table. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Gil began, “when I came downstairs to check on my profiler, and the detective who was supposed to be bringing him back upstairs, only to learn they were nowhere to be found. And that your,” he pointed at Dani, “car was gone.” 

Malcolm tried to defend her, “I can explain. I asked Dani to bring me back to the precinct.”

Gil interrupted him, “See that’s the kind of thing you tell your commanding officer.” 

Again Bright held up his hands in contrition, “I know. And I’m sorry. I just… something I saw at the crime scene… I needed to be sure before… to search it…” 

The lieutenant raised one eyebrow in confusion, “Complete sentences, please.” 

Malcolm shook his head, as though it would clear it, “Right. The heart at the crime scene, cutting it in half and leaving the knife between it. I’ve seen that before. The rest of the M.O. as well: cleaning up the body, redressing and positioning it. All of that is a very specific M.O. from a case I worked four years ago.” 

Dani straightened up off of the wall and slowly walked toward the table, while he continued to speak.

“It was a case in Pennsylvania. The last case I worked with Colette, actually.” As he spoke the last words his voice trailed off. 

“And?” Gil demanded. 

Bright paused, staring blankly at the table, before taking a deep breath, and answering, “And this murder, everything about it matches that case identically.” 

“So you think we’ve got a copycat?” JT asked. 

“That’s the thing. We were worried about that four years ago, so there were specific details about the murders that we never gave to the press or published. Like the knife for example.” 

Gil leaned on the back of the chair in front of him, “So if you don’t think it’s a copycat, what are you thinking?” 

Malcolm looked up at them, his eyes filled with guilt, “I think there’s been an innocent man sitting in a prison cell for four years. Because I put him there.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**ONE WEEK AGO**

_Gil leaned on the back of the chair in front of him, “So if you don’t think it’s a copycat, what are you thinking?”_

_Malcolm looked up at them, his eyes filled with guilt, “I think there’s been an innocent man sitting in a prison cell for four years. Because I put him there.”_

  
  


Every eye in the conference room was staring at him in shock. Malcolm could feel the weight of their gaze. He stared at the table; shame prevented him from looking up at them. 

Gil straightened his posture and ran his hand from his forehead to his chin, tugging lightly on his goatee. He made a point to look directly at Bright as he spoke. “You think you’ve wrongfully imprisoned someone?” the question held no judgement, merely concern. 

His mentor’s compassionate tone gave Malcolm the confidence to raise his head. After clearing his throat he answered, “Obviously we need to completely rule out a copycat, but,” he fidgeted with his hands again, “Yes, I do. And unfortunately we don’t have a lot of time to figure that out.”

The lieutenant’s eyebrows furrowed, “We don’t?” 

Malcolm glanced over at Dani, which immediately led to their boss’s suspicion.

He sighed and asked in an exasperated voice, “What did you do?”

Dani started, “I logged into the database so Bright could look up details on the case. To make sure they matched.” 

“Which means--,” Malcolm continued.

Gil finished for him, “The FBI will likely be paying us a visit.” 

“Yeah.” 

Another awkward pause infiltrated the conference room. JT stood with his arms crossed, absorbing all the information that they’d just been given. Dani’s hands were intertwined in front of her at her waist. Too nervous to look at her boss, she opted to watch Bright out of the corner of her eye. The profiler slowly lifted his head, awaiting Gil’s wrath. 

It never came. The Lieutenant was clearly contemplating their situation, the wheels practically visible as they turned in his head. A moment later his hands rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, “Okay. So tell us everything we need to know before the feds get here.” 

JT and Dani took a seat at the table, pens and paper at the ready, as Malcolm began. 

“The original murders took place four years ago in a town in eastern Pennsylvania called White Mills. The local media dubbed the killer ‘The Heartbreaker’.”

“Witty,” Dani rolled her eyes as she wrote. 

Bright nodded in agreement, “He killed four women in less than a month; all of them had blue eyes, brown hair, and similar body types. After each kill he meticulously removed the heart and wiped the excess blood clean. Then, he cut it down the middle and laid it adjacent to the body.” 

JT interrupted him, “That’s no easy task. How did he get through the ribcage?”

“Reciprocating saw,” the profiler answered matter-of-factly, much to the team’s dismay. 

JT’s face scrunched in disgust, “Sorry I asked.” 

Malcolm was in his element now, relaying information faster than they could write it. “We believed that the mutilation of the heart represented a recent trauma or loss of a loved one. Maybe even a romantic rejection. As you saw today, the knife used to remove and slice the heart was always left stabbed into the floor between the two halves.” 

“Was that symbolic in any way?” Dani didn’t look up as she asked, her hand was flying across her paper. 

“Other than the obvious ‘knife to the heart’, I’m not sure. There were other methods to his kills though, like cleaning, redressing, and positioning the bodies. That implies remorse for his actions. Then there’s the makeup.” 

“Makeup?” Gil repeated.

“All four of the families claimed that the victims never wore their makeup the way that they were found.” 

“So, the killer did that as well.” 

“Yes.” 

Dani finally looked up from her notes, “All of that matches our newest vic.” 

Malcolm tilted his head toward her, “Thus my reaction earlier.” 

“Was the makeup part publicized?” JT asked, “You said the knife was not.”

“Press ran that makeup was added post mortem, but we didn’t give specifics about style.” 

The team took a moment to process the information, while Bright stood anxiously at the end of the table. 

“What about the other stuff?” Gill asked.

Malcolm was genuinely confused, “Other stuff?” 

“Well, we’ve got the basics of the case,” Gil replied, “but none of that is what’s going to earn us a house call from The Bureau. Why would this case be flagged for them?” 

Bright took a deep breath before answering, “Because this case is the main reason I got fired from the FBI.” Again, his gaze went everywhere but the eyes of the people whose opinions he cherished so deeply. “It took me punching that sheriff in Tennessee to finish the job, but this was the catalyst.”

“What happened?” JT was sincerely interested. 

Malcolm turned and took a few steps in the opposite direction, unbuttoning his jacket as he did. “Colette and I were assigned to the case after the second murder. Locals called us in when they saw the repeated M.O.. We interviewed what felt like the entire population and got nowhere. Four days into our investigation the third murder happened. It made national news. The Bureau got dragged through the mud by the media. Even though we had only been there a few days, we were getting called incompetent and Colette and I took a lot of heat for our lack of progress.” 

He paused for a second, remembering, “Long hours and little to no sleep lead to a lot of conflict between the two of us. She was convinced it was an out of towner, but I always thought it was one of the locals. White Mills is a small town, there’s only a few roads that enter and exit. We spent the weekend spinning our wheels and basically arguing the entire time about the profile. Monday came and brought with it the fourth victim. Our superiors showed up the next day, removed us from the case, and sent us home.”

“That’s it?” Dani was clearly confused. “I mean sure not solving the case sucks and all, but that’s not grounds to be fired from the FBI.” 

Malcolm looked at her, amused. “We were supposed to fly back to D.C. that evening. In the meantime, I realized we hadn’t looked into the makeup: brands, manufacturers, sellers. The average guy wouldn’t have much knowledge in that department and he would likely go to a store where he could ask advice. So, I deliberately missed our flight home and worked that lead.” 

“Against direct orders,” Gil added.

“Yes.”

“Again,” Dani defended, “that might earn you a reprimand, but that still doesn’t merit being fired.” 

At that, shame colored Malcolm’s face once more, “I may or may not have misrepresented some facts to get the security footage from the store that sold the make up.” 

“AKA: you lied.” Gil corrected.

“Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably before mumbling the next part, “And I might have manipulated some local restaurant owners into giving me his name off of credit card receipts when they recognized his picture.” 

“Ah.” Dani half whispered.

“Once I had his name I needed the address, but I couldn’t go back to the precinct.” 

“What did you do?” JT was riveted, hanging on every word of this story. Meanwhile, Gil’s mouth continued to open further and further. 

Bright pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, “I went to the BMV, told them it was a federal emergency, and that I needed his home address.” 

Gil huffed, “Which isn’t legal.” 

“No. It is not.” the profiler agreed. “When I went to his home and he wasn’t there; the car was gone. So, I drove around White Mills looking for it. By pure luck I passed him, stopped at a gas station. When I arrested him he had a brand new bag of cosmetics in the passenger seat. They matched brands and shades of the ones used on the victims. It turns out he had dated the first victim a little over a year prior and she left him for someone else. All the other victims, to him, were replicas of her.” 

“What happened to Colette?” Dani’s inquiry shocked him, given her previous interactions with the special agent. 

“She flew home on time, and got reamed by higher ups for our failures and my absence. As though she had anything to do with my decisions. She had recently put in for a promotion, which they vehemently denied on the spot, in front of the whole panel.” 

“And there’s why she tried to bury you last year,” Dani deduced.

Malcolm nodded, “After that she requested a transfer and a new partner. I worked the next two cases solo. The second being the one that solidified my departure from the FBI.” 

Gil leaned forward into the table, “So what you’re saying is: you have a lousy reputation with The Bureau and as soon as they realize you’re the one who’s been digging around in this case, they’re going to go ballistic.”

“Most likely.” 

The door to the bullpen opened and two men in dark suits entered, clearly on a mission. 

“Well,” Gil said scratching the back of his head, “Looks like we’re about to find out.”

  
The Lieutenant made his way to the front of the bullpen, greeting the agents and shaking their hands. When they arrived in the conference room he introduced them, “These are Special Agents Blake and Coe. Gentlemen, this is my team.” 

The fact that he deliberately avoided naming them didn’t go unnoticed by Malcolm. Gil was trying to preserve his credibility for as long as he could. 

Thankfully the taller of the two agents, Coe, addressed them immediately, “It’s come to our attention that your precinct has been looking into an FBI investigation. Why?” His tone was that of someone who knew he held the rank in the room. 

Gil took the lead, “We think we may have a copycat on our hands.” Again, his mentor was clearly trying to cover for him as long as possible. 

“Why is that?” Agent Blake crossed his arms.

Dani responded this time, “A murder victim we found earlier today matches the M.O. of a killer you guys investigated a few years ago, in White Mills, Pennsylvania.” 

“And you just magically knew that?” Agent Coe furrowed his brows doubtfully, “Randomly?” 

She licked her lips, stalling a second, before answering truthfully, “No.” 

“So, again I ask, what’s going on here? How did you know the M.O.s matched?” 

“Because I worked the case,” Malcolm admitted. 

Both the agents turn in unison, surprised by the revelation. 

“You worked the case?” incredulity dripped off of Blake’s question. 

“I did. I’m Malcolm Bright,” he forced himself to look them both confidently in the eyes, refusing to let them think he was embarrassed. 

“You were Swanson’s partner.” The way Blake phrased it - a statement, not a question - told Malcolm everything he needed to know about where he stood with The Bureau. 

“Yes.” He opted to push past the dramatic reveal and move on, “The inquiry was made at my request, because I’m concerned that I may have put an innocent man in prison.”

“You did.” 

Malcolm’s head whipped up. The entire team stared at Coe open-mouthed. 

“What?” Bright’s whisper was barely audible. 

“Adam Reynolds was released yesterday. He won his appeal and the judge overturned his prison sentence.” 

Dani watched Bright react to the information, “Yesterday. That means he was still in prison when our vic was murdered then.” 

The profiler cringed ever so slightly at her comment. It solidified his suspicion. Then he addressed the agents, “Is there any way we can see the transcripts? The files on the appeal?” 

Blake made a circle with his hand, gesturing to all the details and files around the conference room, “We have jurisdiction here now.” 

Malcolm’s eyes squinted in frustration and, before he could reply, Gil stepped in, “Yes, you do. But we will get a lot farther faster if we work together. And you can have the collar. We just want this guy off our streets.” 

As the agents contemplated Gil’s offer, a detective from the bullpen came to the door asking for him. The two spoke in hushed voices just outside the room. 

Meanwhile, Malcolm was leaning over a file on the table, speaking to no one in particular, “I need to see both sets of files: the original murders and the new one. Even the tiniest contrast could be crucial.”

“Looks like you’ll get to profile in person,” Gil reentered the room with a piece of paper in his hand. 

Bright looked up at him crestfallen, “There’s been another murder?”

The lieutenant nodded, “Washington Heights.” He motioned to the whole room when he added, “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Their newest crime scene, while forty-six blocks further uptown, was the spitting image of the previous one. A brunette woman lay respectfully positioned on the floor, her heart literally in pieces beside her. Agents Coe and Blake made small comments to one another here and there and occasionally asked Malcolm if something matched the murders from four years ago. 

“She had a standing appointment with a voice coach,” Gil informed the group, “otherwise she wouldn’t have been found so quickly.” 

Malcolm knelt down next to the victim, inspecting her makeup. 

“Typical M.O.?” Coe asked him. 

“Yeah. Everything matches,” a missing button on her blouse caught his eye, “except for that.” 

“A button?” Dani asked following his eye-line. 

He nodded, putting on gloves, “Everything about the placement of the body, cleaning it, doing the makeup, it all suggests a level of perfection. Something the killer needs to complete his method. He takes an incredible amount of time with these women post mortem and would’ve noticed a missing button. This is deliberate.” 

As he finished, he opened the top button, above the absent one. Beneath the blouse were two letters, carved into the victim’s chest: IS. 

“That’s new,” Bright noted, contemplating the letters. 

“I. S.? Is? What does that mean?” Gil asked. 

“I have no idea,” Malcolm replied. He stood and removed his gloves, “But our killer is evolving, changing his M.O. Which usually means--” 

“The de-escalation period is going to shorten,” Blake finished. 

The profiler nodded in agreement, “And that’s not good for us.” 

* * *

After three hours of attempting to figure out what the letters on the victim’s chest meant, Gil finally called it. “Okay we’re dead in the water right now. It’s 1:15. Go home. Get some sleep and be back here by 7:00.” 

The group broke with no arguments and Malcolm found himself in his bed less than a half an hour later. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and for once, sleep came quickly. As per usual, however, that sleep came at a price. 

All night he tossed, visions of the victims paraded around his mind. He was bent down over the most recent one, when she opened her eyes and sat up. He jumped back as she spoke. “This is your fault,” she accused, her finger pointing at him. He looked down to find her heart, still beating, resting in his hands. Suddenly, blood started pouring from the wound where her heart should be. It vanished mid torso, and spewed forth from the heart he held, soaking his hands and covering the floor below him. The river of crimson began to fill the room. It was up to his shins already. 

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Malcolm apologized. 

“Make it right,” she replied, as the blood rose above her head.

Malcolm awoke with a jolt, his restraints straining to hold him. He spit out his mouthguard, his breaths coming in heaves. He was covered in sweat and his clothes were sticking to him everywhere. 

“And so much for sleep,” he mumbled, popping his restraints loose and heading toward the shower. 

* * *

The next morning Dani met JT at the front door of the precinct and the two walked together into the conference room, discussing the case as they went. When Dani opened the door she jumped, “Hey, Bright.” 

Malcolm’s only response was to raise his coffee cup in salute. 

“When did you get here?” JT asked. 

“About,” Bright checked his watch, “two hours ago.” 

“So, you’re just actively avoiding sleep then?” Dani smirked. Although the joke was meant to be light hearted, she realized after the fact the truth that lay behind it. There were dark circles around Malcolm’s eyes and he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. 

He half smiled in response, “Sleep and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.” His eyes scanned the case file open in front of him quickly, “I figure I might as well be productive.” 

Before he could sit down, JT’s phone rang, “It’s Gil.” Dani’s heart sank as she listened to his end of the conversation, “Where? On our way.” The detective ended the call and looked apologetically across the table. 

“Another one?” Malcolm’s entire demeanor shifted at the news. His shoulders slumped as though they were weighted down by some invisible force. It was no secret what that force was: guilt. Guilt for the fact that he’d been the cause of an innocent man’s imprisonment. Guilt for these new victim’s, whose deaths he undoubtedly felt responsible for - even though he wasn’t.

“I’ll drive,” JT led the way out of the conference room.

“I’ll call our new friends,” Dani offered, following close behind. She turned at the door to check on her partner. Bright took a long, deep breath, rose from his seat, and slowly trailed behind them. 

* * *

“Less than 48 hours between kills now,” Gil’s greeting wasn’t exactly a pleasant one. 

“It’s only going to get worse until we find him,” Malcolm’s words were monotone, lifeless. “Where’s the message?” It wasn’t a question of if there was one. It was a question of what exactly it was going to be. Just as he had suspected, Gil stepped aside, revealing the literal writing on the wall. The killer had clearly dipped his hand in the victim's blood, and used it as a mutant form of macabre finger paint. The word “coming” was spelled out at an angle.

The sight of the blood oozing down the wall brought with it flashbacks of Malcolm’s dream. When he looked down at the victim’s body there was blood spilling out from the wound in her chest. It filled the floor like a scarlet tidal wave and he took several steps back to try and avoid it. 

“You good?” Dani asked putting her hands on his arms to steady him when he backed into her. 

His face was ashen, “I--.” He glanced over at the victim. Her eyes popped open and her head turned toward him. 

“Make it right,” she whispered, causing him to gasp.

“Bright? You okay?” Dani asked again.

“This is on me,” he whispered. Malcolm tried to shake the vision from his mind, while backing further away from the body. 

Gil’s response was firm, “This is NOT on you. It’s on HIM.” 

“I put him in prison. This is revenge. These women are paying for my mistake.” 

Dani tried to comfort him, “We don’t even know if this is Reynolds. He was still locked up when our first murder happened, remember?” 

He looked up at her, his eyes screaming in pain, “Even then. If it isn’t Reynolds, then it’s the original killer, who I let roam free this entire time.” Bright’s hands shook uncontrollably. His eyes were wild and his breath got more shallow by the minute. 

“Take him outside,” Gil ordered Dani, who guided the profiler with a hand on his back. 

“Come on, Bright. Let’s get some air.” 

Malcolm didn’t argue. He merely allowed her to direct him which way to go. When they exited the building he sat on the front steps and she followed suit. She watched him from the corner of her eye for a moment, trying to figure out how to comfort him. He was staring blankly across the street, barely even blinking. This was the Malcolm that worried her. Outbursts she could handle; moments of impassioned rage or frustration were understandable given their profession not to mention his family life. But catatonic Malcolm scared her. When he got like this, there was nothing she could do to help him. He was her partner, they would follow each other into hell and back. But when he disappeared like this, he went somewhere she couldn’t follow. And that frightened her. 

“Bright--” 

Before she could continue her sentence, Malcolm’s head whipped around. He stared at her for less than a second, before jumping up and rushing down the sidewalk. 

“Hey!” Dani followed him, half jogging to catch up. “Where are you going?” 

“To the first crime scene,” he replied, as though her question was asinine. 

She knew better than to flee a crime scene twice, so she called Gil to explain, running to catch up with her partner.

* * *

“Okay so, what are we looking for exactly?” Dani asked, attempting to find the light switch. 

“There has to be a message here somewhere. We must have missed it.” Malcolm was practically manic, his head on a swivel scanning the room. 

“CSIs went over this place pretty thoroughly.” When she finally found the switch, Dani flipped it. Nothing happened. “No power apparently.” 

Malcolm didn’t respond to her, he was canvassing every surface he could find. Leaving him to his search, Dani walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. Dust particles rained down, visible in the ray of sunlight now beaming into the room. She checked the window for any sign of a message before turning and helping in the search. 

Less than two minutes later Malcolm said her name, “Dani.” His tone raised the hairs on her neck. It was calm, but terrifying all in the same note. “Look.” He was pointing at a picture hanging on the wall in front of him. 

She hurried to his side. The frame housed at least ten different pictures in various layouts. 

“Corner,” he instructed, pointing toward the bottom right edge of the frame. 

There, neatly nestled in the right angle, was a newspaper clipping, a word big enough that it must have once been a headline. 

“Justice,” Malcolm read. 

Dani turned to look at him and he slowly did the same. When their eyes met, the guilt that had filled his momentarily vanished. Fear replaced it. That same fear was audible when he spoke. 

“Justice is coming.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter pre whumpfest. You have been warned.

**CHAPTER 3**

_ Dani turned to look at him and he slowly did the same. When their eyes met, the guilt that had filled his momentarily vanished. Fear replaced it. That same fear was audible when he spoke.  _

_ “Justice is coming.”  _

When the team met back up at the precinct, Malcolm revealed the full message. Gil was noticeably concerned with the new development. 

“Assuming these messages are actually meant for you,” he gestured toward Malcolm.

“They are,” Bright quipped. 

“What’s our play? How do we prepare for this,” his fingers made air quotes, “justice?” 

Agent Blake crossed his arms as he leaned against the window, “Can we even? Without knowing exactly what that supposed ‘justice’ is?” 

“No. Other than catching him, there isn’t much we can do.” Malcolm glanced down at the conference table. It was littered with case files and crime scene photos, “There has to be something here and I’m just missing it.” 

Agent Coe showed Blake his phone, “Tech just sent us Adam Reynolds’ new address.” 

“That’s great! Let’s go,” the new intel was a shot of adrenaline for the profiler. 

Blake’s response was the antidote. “We,” his hand wiggled back and forth between him and his partner, “will be going to Bethel. You will not be involved in questioning Adam Reynolds in any way. At best, he was wrongfully imprisoned. At worst, he’s our current killer hell-bent on delivering some sort of ‘justice’ to you. Either way he’s not reacting well if he sees you.” 

“Blake’s right,” Gil agreed. “This is their territory, anyway. We can keep working the current murders on our side.” 

“Sounds good,” Coe agreed. “It’s late, we should get going. At this rate it’ll be midnight before we get there.” He addressed Gil when next he spoke, “We’ll contact you after we’ve talked to Reynolds.” With that the two agents excused themselves from the conference room, a long drive ahead of them.

* * *

Three hours and multiple cups of coffee later, Gil’s phone buzzed, while the team was combing through files and dead ends. 

“Arroyo.” 

Three sets of eyes were glued to him. His comments were vague and short, so Malcolm tried to profile every expression he made. The call ended and he immediately sighed. 

“Reynolds’ new address was empty. No furniture. No power. Nothing.” 

“So, it was a decoy.” It wasn’t a question. Malcolm’s statement was meant as fact. 

Gil nodded, “Looks that way. They’re staying overnight; said they were going to question some locals in the morning.” He looked at his watch, “We should break for the night also. Come back with fresh eyes.” 

The team agreed, said their goodbyes, and exited the precinct. 

* * *

Malcolm stared at the ceiling above his bed. He craved sleep, rest for his weary mind and body. But he knew exactly what would happen the second he closed his eyes and drifted off. Despite knowing what was to come, he couldn’t fight it for long and, just as he had predicted, the terrors returned. 

The setting was similar to the other dreams; the most recent victim lay supine on the floor. Her arms were crossed respectfully over her chest. Her winged eyeliner was perfectly drawn, though Malcolm only got a second to admire the work before her eyes burst open. The woman gasped, clutching her chest and again blood flowed from the wound beneath her clothing like a river. 

“Help me!” she begged, “Give it back!” 

He looked down and her heart was again in his hands, beating dramatically, as though it were a gasping for blood instead of air. 

“Here,” Malcolm stepped forward and handed it to her, but it split into two pieces as she took it.”

“Fix it,” she cried, crimson still spilling from her torso. 

“How? What do I do?” he asked, desperate to help her. 

“Make it right,” she ordered, her voice shifting from helpless to angry. “You’re next,” she warned, menace dripping from the words. 

“What?” Malcolm stared at her in surprise. 

“Justice is coming.” Her face contorted into the most terrifying grin he had ever seen. 

Suddenly, a pain unlike anything he had ever felt ripped through his chest, and his own blood poured from a wound identical to hers. Malcolm gasped, trying to simultaneously catch his breath and stop the bleeding. He fell to his knees and clutched at his shirt before collapsing completely onto the floor. 

  
  


Once again, he bolted upright in his bed, the restraints taught and groaning where they were fastened to the wall. Malcolm released himself from the tethers, and reached over to his bedside table to check his phone: 4:37am. As had become a habit of late, he rubbed his temples with his fingers before sighing and getting out of bed. 

* * *

20 minutes later, Malcolm was standing in his kitchen adding an ungodly amount of sugar to his coffee when the buzzer to his apartment went off. He jumped at the sound and raised an eyebrow quizzically, while walking over to answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me. Can I come up?” Dani’s voice, slightly distorted by the electronics, filled the room.

He stared at the box for a moment in shock, “Sure,” and pressed the button, leaving the door ajar. 

When she entered he was back around the island, stirring his coffee. 

“Hey,” his greeting was genuinely kind toward her presence, but lackluster. The fact that he didn’t have to pretend around her was something he appreciated. Honestly, he didn’t have the strength to pretend right now. 

Dani approached the island, dangling a brown bag as though it were a prized possession. “I brought breakfast,” she smiled, unrolling the top of it. Malcolm had to admit the smell that exited was mouth-watering. He watched his partner as she wiggled her eyebrows and walked around the island, helping herself to the cabinet where the plates were located. He peeked in the bag while she was returning, “Touch that apple fritter and I will do a full take down.” 

He couldn’t help but grin, “But they’re my favorite,” he lied, reaching into the bag to deliberately mess with her.

She smacked his arm and pointed a vertical plate threateningly. “We both know that’s BS. Your chocolate croissant,” she tilted her head to brandish a little attitude, “Which you ACTUALLY like, is under the fritter.” She extended her plate toward him, “Now hand over the fritter and no one gets hurt.” 

Malcolm finally obliged, retrieving his own pastry afterward. He pulled a few miniscule pieces off of the end, his mind preoccupied. He forced himself to eat the first one; the second remained on the plate. 

Dani made herself comfortable at the bar and took a few bites before speaking again, ”So, you’re not eating again?”

He raised his head, “Again?” 

She took another bite, nodding emphatically, “Yes, again. You do this when you’re overly stressed. Which is basically always. You hardly ever eat and when you do it’s nothing but sugar. And yes, I say that with full understanding of the irony-in-a-bag I provided for our breakfast.”

“You monitor my eating habits?” 

His tone was less playful than she expected it to be. So, she attempted to keep the banter light, “Well, the first time it happened I was trying to disprove JT’s theory that you were a genius profiler robot. But, when you never actually ate anything, I started to wonder.” 

Malcolm didn’t respond; his eyes focused on the croissant, while he picked tiny flakes off of it. 

“Talk to me,” she requested, setting down her fritter.

He didn’t look up at her, “I don’t want to talk about it, Dani.” 

“Sometimes what you want and what’s best aren’t always the same thing,” she coaxed. 

The comment irked, Malcolm. “And you know what’s best for me now?” he spat, dusting off his hands and crossing them over his chest. 

“You don’t have to get angry, Bright. I’m just trying to help you.” 

“But you’re not helping. Showing up at my house at 5:00 am unannounced and interrogating me IS NOT HELPING!”

Dani didn’t back down, “I’m worried, okay. You’re not sleeping, You’re not eating. And based on yesterday, you’re having full-on hallucinations again. This case is clearly getting to you.”

“OF COURSE IT IS!” His arms flew up in frustration, “Women are dying because of my error!” 

“Wrong!” Dani jabbed her finger into the granite countertop as she spoke, “Women are dying because a deranged psychopath is out there murdering them. Yes, you made a mistake. But, that doesn’t put the blame for these deaths on your shoulders. That is not your guilt to bear. It’s his.” Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, but she shut him down. “Enough! No more blaming yourself. Period.” 

For a moment the two of them simply stared at each other in defiance. Eventually that melted away and Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m just… struggling right now.” Dani didn’t interrupt him, allowing the extended pause before he continued. “I know this sounds incredibly self-centered, but the one thing that kept me going after the case in White Mills - and getting fired afterward - was the fact that I had at least caught the killer. That the guilty man was behind bars and wouldn’t be able to kill again. That was a lie. And now new victims are dying because of my failure.” Shame forced his gaze downward and he studiously occupied himself with the countertop. 

Dani leaned forward, attempting to meet his eyes, “So, then fix it. Make it right.” 

Malcolm’s head jerked up and he stared at her; his nightmares flashed behind his eyes in rapid succession. Dani’s voice blended with the victims’ in his head.

“What did you say?” 

“I said, ‘make it right’.” She reached forward and laid her hand on his, “I understand that things are crazy right now. And even though I don’t think you’re to blame for any of these new victims, what matters is how you feel. If you can’t shake this guilt you’re feeling, then find a way to make it right. So you can get that burden off of your conscience.” 

Malcolm nodded, squeezing the side of her hand with his thumb in gratitude. Dani released him and straightened up on the stool. “Now,” she demanded, taking a comically large bite out of her fritter, “eat.” 

He gave her a “cheers” gesture with his croissant before taking his own oversized bite, each of them smiling as they chewed. 

* * *

Dani and Malcolm walked the 15 minutes from his apartment to the precinct together, pleasantly chatting about anything other than the case. For once Malcolm was quite enjoying the small talk and banter. Dani had taken it upon herself to choose this walk as the right time to pester him about numerous parts of his personal life. First it was his “lack of musical diversity”, which he vehemently denied. 

“You desperately need more hip hop in your repertoire,” she scolded playfully. 

Malcolm chuckled, “Why? Because everything about my life screams ‘rap’?” 

“Hey! Hip hip is all about where you’re from, the adversity you’ve overcome, street cred. You check every one of those boxes.” 

Malcolm stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second head, “I have,” he used air quotes, “street cred? Please elaborate on this.” 

She giggled, but clarified her statement, “Um, you’ve been arrested for murder.”

“Yes and who was it that cuffed me again?” he inquired, squinting his eyes in mock disdain. 

Dani waved his comment off and continued, “You’ve spent time in jail. Frequently stand up to and even get in physical altercations with killers. You’ve been stabbed. Gotten incredibly high in a nightclub. You chopped off a guy’s hand. You had a horrible childhood, but overcame it to make something of yourself. Oh, and you punched a sheriff in the face.”

Malcolm just blinked at her. 

“Come on!” Dani urged, “That screams hip hop album.” 

The profiler simply shook his head and continued walking down Lafayette.

Dani, however, wasn't finished, “You know this started off as a joke but, there might legitimately be something here…” 

When they arrived at the precinct, Malcolm opened the door for her and she walked through practically bouncing, “Maybe we should talk to JT about this. I mean the album practically writes itself. Oh, and the titles,” she turned excitedly when he entered afterward, her arms gesturing emphatically, “The Miseducation of Malcolm Bright.” Her smile was so big he was sure it could be seen from the street. “No! Straight Outta Affluence.” Even he had to chuckle at that one. “Oooo or: DAMN. I realize the last one is just the original title, but fits so well, ya know?”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this am I?” he laughed, as they entered the bullpen. 

“The end of what?” JT asked, exiting Gil’s office. 

“Nothing!” Malcolm turned and glared at Dani threateningly. 

She scrunched her smile into one corner of her face and held her tongue. However, once Malcolm had started toward the conference room she mouthed, “Later,” to her fellow detective. 

JT and Dani sat at the conference table, awaiting the morning briefing. Malcolm was looking over the caseboard again, as though something might have been added since they’d all gone home. 

Gil entered the room, coffee mug in hand, “Any epiphanies overnight?” When no one responded he took a sip from the mug, “Okay then. So, where do we stand?” 

Malcolm spoke first, still facing the caseboard, “‘Justice is coming’ feels personal. Like Adam is angry for what happened.” 

Gil offered the counter argument, “Or someone thinks they’re the hand of justice. Have we considered that the way these women were chosen might not match the original M.O.? Obviously the method of the kill is basically identical, but maybe these women aren’t being killed for the same reasons.” 

“It’s possible,” Malcolm conceded, “But not only are these murders identical, they’re deliberately happening within the jurisdiction of the unit I now work with. The only other reason a killer would shift their hunting and disposal ground almost 150 miles would be to avoid capture. That would be one hell of a coincidence to accidentally land where I’m working.” 

“Fair enough,” the lieutenant agreed, “but all of this is assuming Reynolds is the killer. How do you explain the murder while he was still in lock up?”

Malcolm’s face fell, “That, I don’t know.” 

Gil’s phone buzzed and he stood while reading it, “Looks like our agent friends got us some intel on Reynolds’ appeal. They sent it ahead while they drive back.” He left the room to go print the information.

A few minutes later he re-entered with a stack of papers. He handed sets to the detectives and slid one to the opposite end of the table toward Malcolm, who quickly sat down and started looking over them. The team flipped through the paperwork calling out certain details as they went. 

“Appealed to Pennsylvania Superior Court,” Dani read. 

Unsurprisingly, Malcolm was ahead of them, “An alibi came forward.” The rest of the team looked over at him confused. “Page three,” he clarified. “The alibi was fearful of coming forward initially due to the nature of the activities that he and Reynolds were engaged in.”

“Translation: drugs,” JT noted.  
Malcolm kept reading, “Apparently he felt guilty for not speaking up and sought out counsel to make amends.” 

Dani’s brows were furrowed, “That seems sketchy.” 

“Very,” Malcolm agreed, “If he had an alibi, why didn’t Reynolds play that card immediately? A few years, bumped down for good behavior vs. life in prison? Why keep that to yourself?”

“Because, it’s fabricated,” Gil concluded. 

“Exactly!”

The conference room was silent for a moment as the team continued to read through the paperwork. 

JT opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Malcolm heard the sound and questioned him without looking up, “What?” 

The detective shook his head as though he were already dismissing his idea, “I know this sounds crazy but… what if Reynolds is working with the original killer?” The team didn’t respond. Three sets of eyes were staring at him almost expressionless. JT defended his thought, “I mean it is possible right? It’s happened before. Maybe they’ve been in contact.” 

“That would explain how the new kills match the original M.O.,” Malcolm’s eyes were bouncing around as his brain worked every angle of this new theory.

“And that convenient new alibi,” Dani added.

Malcolm pointed at her in agreement with the comment, “JT, this has merit.” 

“So, that brings us back to solving the original case,” Gil concluded. “Bright, how many suspects other than Reynolds did you have?” 

“None. That was the problem.” 

Silence again permeated the room once more, until it was broken by a detective knocking on the doorframe of the conference room. 

“Sir?” His question was directed at Gil. 

Malcolm’s head lowered, as the lieutenant sighed and responded, “Where are we headed?” 

“148 Lafayette.” 

The profiler’s head whipped toward the door in surprise, “Lafayette?” The detective nodded and Malcolm looked back to his mentor, “That’s only three blocks from my apartment.” 

“And not even a half a mile from here,” Dani added. 

“Let’s go,” Gil ordered. 

* * *

JT and Gil entered the apartment first. Before Malcolm could follow, Dani tapped his arm, “Nothing you’re about to see is your fault. Remember that, okay.” 

When he looked at her she could see the pain in his eyes. His only response was to nod, half-heartedly. She followed behind after he entered and almost ran into him when he stopped in his tracks. Once she moved around him she realized why. The victim was laid on the floor just as all the others had been. She was positioned in the same manner as well, but her clothes were covered in blood. There must have been at least twenty stab wounds all over the body, not to mention the gaping hole in her chest that was clearly visible even from where Dani stood. 

“This is definitely an escalation, JT said, bending down next to the victim. 

“This isn’t the same killer,” Malcolm corrected, almost monotone.

Gil watched his would-be-son, knowing that this had to be unbelievably painful for him, “How can you be sure?” 

“Well the overkill for starters. The original killer was methodical, clinical almost in his approach. This,” he pointed at the plethora of stab wounds, “is rage.” 

“What else?” Gil asked. 

Malcolm leaned over to get a better look at the hole in the victim’s chest, “That cut isn’t as clean. Whoever did this wasn’t nearly as practiced as the previous murders. Her makeup is done, but it’s sloppy compared to before. The heart isn’t as clean as it usually is. Everything about this is different. Close, but slightly off.” He glanced around the room quickly, “Do we have a message this time?” 

“In here,” an officer answered from the kitchen. 

The team turned the corner to find another message hand-written in blood across the cabinets. 

“It’s time,” Dani read aloud. 

She watched Bright closely, looking for any sign of another spiral. He showed none, remaining calm and quiet, as he stared at the writing. After a few moments, Gil and JT returned to the living room. Malcolm took a lap around the kitchen, looking at some pictures on the fridge before making his way out of the kitchen as well. 

* * *

The entire ride home Malcolm was again silent. And yet again, his silence worried Dani. Instead of staring blankly out of the window, he was preoccupied with his phone. When they returned to the conference room, Malcolm immediately went to the caseboard and started writing the intel from the most recent crime scene. JT sat on the far side of the table, and Dani leaned against the wall by the windows. 

“So what now?” Dani asked, directing the question toward Bright more than anyone else. He didn’t respond though, Gil did.

“Now we’re back to where we started, trying to figure out who the original killer is.” 

The team continued to spitball ideas, while Malcolm finished writing on the board. Dani watched him from the corner of her eye, as he meddled with his phone again, then made an announcement to the room. 

“I have to take care of something. I’ll be right back.” 

Gil nodded and continued his discussion with JT. Dani, however, eyed him as he swiftly left the conference room. After a second’s consideration, she took the back exit and practically sprinted down the stairs. She bounded out the stairwell door at the front of the building, making it to the main doors just in time to catch Bright as he exited. 

“Where exactly are you going?” she asked, faux inquisitively. 

As soon as he saw her, Malcolm rolled his eyes, annoyed that she’d followed him. “Nowhere. I have to take care of something.” 

“You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” she crossed her arms and shifted all her weight to one leg. 

He didn’t even argue the fact. Instead he simply walked around her in a huff. As he passed she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Bright,” she warned.

“Let go of me, Dani,” the anger in his voice didn’t exactly surprise her. Nor did his glare. 

She leaned in toward him and returned the same aggravated squint, “I know what you think you’re about to do and it’s not gonna happen.” 

Malcolm jerked his wrist from her hand, “You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot do.” 

“The hell I don’t, PARTNER,” she emphasized the last word as though it negated his argument completely. “Where you go, I go.” 

Bright continued to stare at her bitterly. She watched as the anger shifted to annoyance, then to frustration, and then it melted away completely. 

“Sometimes you annoy the hell out of me, you know that?” he huffed, stomping back up the stairs and pulling the door open for her. 

“Yeah? Well you should try being on this side my friend,” Dani play-smacked his cheek as she walked by. 

When they reentered the conference room Gil and JT both looked at them confused. “Where were you two?” 

“Bright,” she patted him on the back, “has some intel for us.” She smiled at him knowingly. 

He rolled his eyes again, but divulged the information nonetheless, “I found an address on the fridge at the crime scene. I think it’s meant for us.” 

Gil crossed his arms and chided the profiler, “Something to take care of, huh?” The lieutenant immediately turned to Dani, understanding what had happened in their absence, “Thank you.” 

She nodded in return. 

“The address is 7118 Mill Brook Road.” 

“Where the hell is that?” JT asked. 

Malcolm held up his phone, “Margaretville, New York. About two and a half hours north of here.” 

“Looks like we’re headed to the mountains,” Gil replied. “Good timing.” 

Agents Blake and Coe had just walked into the bullpen. When they entered the conference room, Gil informed them of the plan.

“Perfect. We’ll drive,” Coe replied. 

Gil turned to his team, “Time to gear up,” he ordered, as they exited the conference room. 

With vests and ammunition in hand, they split into groups and the Suburbans pulled out into traffic, headed north. 


	4. Chapter 4

**PRESENT DAY**

_The SUV finally stopped rolling, initially landing on its side. However, it had just enough momentum to slowly fall over onto its top, creaking at first, then landing with a resounding crunch. That was the last sound Malcolm heard, before his vision tunneled and everything faded to black._

Malcolm slowly opened his eyes, blinking away dust and dirt. Try as he might, they wouldn’t seem to focus; everything around him was blurry. A high pitched ringing filled his ears, echoing far louder than he thought possible. His face was wet and his arms were dangling above his head. 

Why were they above his head? 

_Because you’re hanging upside down_ , his psyche answered.

For the first time, the profiler realized that the world outside the SUV was inverted. 

_The crash_ , he remembered, running his arm across his face to wipe his eyes. His sleeve came back coated in dark liquid.

Blood. 

_Dani._

“Da--,” the gruff word cut off in his throat and he cleared it, “Dani?” Malcolm attempted to turn his head to look for her, but his body was uncooperative. The delay between his intention and the actual performance of the action was infuriating, “Dani?” 

_Please_ , he silently begged, fear running through him in a surge of ice water. _Please, say something._

As though she could hear him, Dani groaned.

His hand groped about for the seat belt button and fumbled multiple times before finally pushing it correctly. Despite the fact that he had made the decision to release the restraint, his body couldn’t react fast enough. He hit the roof of the Suburban with a thud, grumbling as he righted himself. Every part of him ached, some places far worse than others; his head pounded in unison with his heartbeat. 

The first thing he saw after he rolled over was Blake. The agent was covered in blood, having taken the brunt of the impact from the assailing truck, and wasn’t moving. Malcolm knew before he reached for him that he wasn’t going to find a pulse. That didn’t make the confirmation any less painful. 

Dani groaned again and Malcolm’s head swung in her direction. 

“Dani,” he backed out of the broken passenger window, stumbling around the front of the Suburban to get to her side. Before he bent down he reached into his pocket for his phone… that was all but obliterated. He cursed and tossed it aside, as he knelt down next to Dani’s shattered window. 

She had a head wound that rivaled his own. Being upside down, gravity pulled the line of crimson into her hair rather than down the side of her head. Again she mumbled, not fully conscious. 

“Hey,” he forced a pained smile, attempting to be as soothing as possible. Her eyes were finally open, but she was clearly confused as to her whereabouts. Her hands started groping at the things around her, when she realized she wasn’t right side up. “It’s okay,” he assured her, “Dani. Look at me. It’s Bright.” Her eyes tracked their way over to him. “There was a crash. We need to get you out of the car, okay?”

She grumbled in response.

“I need you to put your hands on the roof, for support. Can you do that?” 

Her arms stretched out beneath her, although whether or not they would actually be able to support her was another thing entirely. Malcolm reached across her to push the release button of her seat belt; nothing happened.

_Of course._

He pulled his tactical knife from his pocket. “Don’t move,” he warned, putting his hand between her and the belt, before slicing where it met the seat. Dani collapsed onto the roof just as he had. Malcolm offered her his hand and helped her out of the vehicle. When she attempted to stand, she wobbled and he steadied her, eying the area just above her temple. The sun had set a while ago, but the dark line oozing down the side of her face was still visible in the last blue-black light of the evening. 

“That does not look great,” his feeble attempt at a joke didn’t do much to lighten the mood. 

“Speak for yourself,” Dani groaned, half-heartedly gesturing in his direction. 

Malcolm’s hand went to his forehead. He followed the trail upward until he found the cut at his hairline and winced, “Touché.”

Dani looked down, toward the driver’s seat behind her legs, “Blake?” 

He stared at her for a moment, debating on how to say it, then slowly shook his head.

* * *

“What the hell happened?” Dani asked, looking back up the embankment. Every part of her felt like it had been run over with a steamroller. On top of that nausea had kicked in, no doubt from her likely concussion. By the looks of things, her partner was in the same boat.

“I think we were targeted,” he admitted, fumbling his way back around to the passenger side of the car.

“What are you doing?”

“Radio. My phone is destroyed,” he replied, gingerly crawling back into the SUV and fiddling with the controls. He cursed under his breath, “As is the radio.” After making his way out, he sighed and walked back around the car. She was barely visible in the last of the fading light. “Your phone survive?”

Dani felt her pocket and pulled it out, excitedly. When she tapped the screen it did nothing; the other buttons were useless as well. “Nope.” 

He frowned in thought, taking in their surroundings as best he could, “Okay, we need to move. If this was deliberate, they’re going to come back to confirm. And we can’t--” 

Malcolm gasped and fell violently backward. Dani stared at him, confused, until the actual sound of the shot reached them a second later. 

“Bright?!” She fell to her knees beside him and another shot pinged off of the metal of the Suburban. Her hands were everywhere, as she strained her eyes, trying to find the wound. “Where?” she begged. 

“Shoulder,” he groaned, hissing through the pain. 

She found the saturated spot on his shirt and pushed.

“Ahhh,” Malcolm growled softly.

“Sorry.” His blood had already coated her fingers. Her right hand slid over his shoulder to the back, which was wet also. 

“It's a through and through,” she informed. 

He didn’t respond other than to continue breathing very deliberately. Behind her, bullets continued to hit the Suburban, as she ducked down further and desperately tried to figure out they should do. 

“You see anything?” Malcolm asked between controlled breaths.

“No. Did you?” 

“No. We can’t stay here. If he moves positions, we’re sitting ducks,” he winced and started to pull himself up. Dani helped finish the task. Once he was upright, Malcolm pulled his gun, one-handed. “We have to move.” 

“We’re sitting ducks regardless,” she argued. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and it’s pitch black out here.” 

“Our best bet is to make a run for it,” he argued, jerking his head in the direction of the woods, “Use the trees as cover.” 

“Yes, but there’s fifty feet of no cover between us and those trees.” The front of the Suburban ringed, as more bullets ripped through it’s metal. 

“Which is why I’ll cover you,” he offered, as though that settled the matter. 

She scoffed, “You know you have a hole in your shoulder right?”

“My non-dominant shoulder,” he corrected. 

“And who’s going to cover you?”

“Once you make the treeline, you cover for me. I’ll run to my right, so you shoot to yours.” 

Dani shook her head, which she immediately regretted, when her stomach lurched at the motion, “This is not a good idea.” 

“You’re right,” he surprisingly acknowledged, “But it’s the only one we’ve got right now and we have to move.” Another shot rang out. It hit the ground just behind the rear of the SUV. Malcolm winced again, as he leaned back against the car. Then he turned his head and squinted, trying to see her in the darkness, “Ready?” 

She contemplated arguing for a moment, but realized he was actually right. Something she was not about to admit, “Fine. I’ll yell ‘go’ when I’m clear.” 

“Okay.” He slowly turned and faced the car, inching his way toward the front end, using the engine as added protection. Then, he started the countdown, “Three.”

She holstered her weapon and prepared to sprint.

“Two.”

He raised his gun.

“One.”

Malcolm popped up and quickly fired two shots, drawing two in response from the assailant. Dani bolted and pushed herself as hard as she could, zig zagging through the clearing. Bright fired two more and by the time they were reciprocated, she was safely behind a tree. 

Dani pulled her gun immediately and stood sideways, protecting herself with the trunk. “GO!” she yelled, shooting several times. Bright sprinted to the right, as he had indicated. A return bullet hit a tree a few yards away and she heard the bark splinter off of it. Again she fired, watching Malcolm as he approached the treeline. Their attacker fired again, but this time it wasn’t in her direction. It was at Bright. 

“Dammit.” She unloaded the remainder of her clip in rapid succession, praying it would be enough of a distraction to get her partner to cover. 

Bullets were still flying in their direction when Malcolm finally reached the treeline. “Run!” he ordered.

He didn’t have to tell her twice; she holstered her weapon and dashed ahead of him. The darkness made it impossible to actually sprint, but she weaved through the trees and brush as quickly as she could.

“How far?” she called over her shoulder, between breaths. When no response came, she stopped on a dime. “Bright?” It was pitch black; she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, much less someone a few feet away. The lack of sound panicked her. There was no indication that anyone or anything was moving around her at all. “Bright?!” her whisper was as close to a yell as she would allow given the situation. 

Nothing. 

Dani drew her gun, and slowly started to retrace her steps, in search of her partner. 

* * *

Malcolm fired another two shots then ducked down behind the Suburban, and hissed. His shoulder was on fire and the blood loss was no doubt going to catch up with him very soon. Dani had to be to the tree line by now. He returned the Glock to its holster and waited, amping himself up for the inevitably miserable pain he was about to feel while running. 

“GO!” Dani’s voice echoed in the darkness. 

He lunged forward and sprinted like his life depended on it. Dani covered him, firing in the direction he told her. A few times he dug a foot into the ground and cut in the opposite direction. Suddenly he heard something whiz by his head; the bullet couldn’t have missed him by more than a few feet. 

_Shit_. 

Dani had realized it too and emptied the rest of her magazine in an effort to keep their assailant distracted. 

It worked. Malcolm made it to the tree line and never slowed down. “RUN!” yelled, ordering his partner to go. She immediately turned and bolted. The trees and darkness were a horrible combination, forcing him to zig zag constantly to avoid smacking into them. He tried to follow Dani’s path as best he could, but she was just far enough ahead of him that he couldn’t see her. Instead, the sound of her steps became his guide. 

Sprinting and blood loss were not a great combination. Tiny white dots started to pop up in his peripheral vision. The white hot pain from his shoulder had spread to his chest and was stinging like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

_That’s not right,_ his psyche noted. 

Malcolm stopped and looked down. A tiny puffball was sticking out of his chest. He removed it, and the dart attached, and stared at it for a split second. Suddenly, his body felt too heavy to hold with his own legs. The dart fell from his hand, as he looked forward and attempted to call for his partner. No sound left his lips, though, and he stumbled, before collapsing completely. 

* * *

After ten minutes of frantic searching, Dani was convinced that Bright had been taken. They hadn’t gotten that far into the woods and there was no trace of him anywhere now. Not a single sound. Nothing. Every second now was time he was with them. The thought chilled her to her very core. 

_Justice is coming._

Dani racked her brain for a plan. She couldn’t help but think that Malcolm would’ve come up with something by now. 

_Focus, Powell._

If whoever was after them had Bright, then that meant the Suburban was likely clear. At some point Gil and JT would circle back to find them. It took longer than she wanted to find the clearing. With no flashlight, finding her way out of the woods was tedious and time consuming. She had gone the wrong way twice already and she cursed herself for wasting precious time. When she finally reached the treeline again, Dani hesitated. It was bold to assume their attacker had left the scene. 

_If he hasn’t then where the hell is Bright?_ her psyche argued. 

_Valid point._

_And we never checked for Blake’s phone._

That was enough to convince her to risk it. She tentatively stepped away from the trees, her gun up and ready to fire. ‘When nothing happened, she started forward. After a few steps she felt more comfortable and sped up. Night had completely enveloped everything, forcing her to feel her way around the front of the Suburban. When she reached it, Dani gingerly crawled into the passenger side window, where Malcolm had been seated. There was glass and debris everywhere and she nicked her hands a few times, as she felt around for anything useful. 

“Yes!” she couldn’t contain her excitement when her fingers found Bright’s flashlight on the floor, well roof. Before she turned it on, she took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to see. Then she opened them and turned on the light. Agent Blake was still dangling upside down; his injuries were gruesome. His neck was positioned at a crude angle, one that wasn’t in any way natural. The blood had dried for the most part, but that didn’t deter from how shocking the scene was. 

“I’m sorry,” Dani whispered, as she checked him for a phone. She found one in his back pocket and again apologized when she took it. 

Dani tapped the screen and, by some miracle, it lit up. She immediately dialed Gil, but the call wouldn’t connect. The same with JT and Agent Coe. Her hands shook as she tried again. 

“Come on. Come on,” she begged, but nothing would go through. What terrified her the most was the fact that she wasn’t sure if they weren’t connecting because of bad service in the middle of nowhere or because something had happened to the other car as well. She backed out through the window and tried the numbers again, this time while walking around the clearing and holding the phone as high as she could. 

Still nothing. 

“Dammit!” 

Dani stood in the clearing shaking in frustration. She had to get to Bright. She couldn’t just stand here like an idiot and do nothing.

 _Think, Dani!_ She scolded. 

Then she opened the messages and typed a text to her boss: 

**It’s Dani. Are you guys okay?**

_Sometimes those go through when a call won’t right?_

She waited a few minutes but nothing came back. After trying to call again, she drafted another text to Gil. 

**Our car was targeted. We crashed and rolled down the hill 4 mins after the fork. Shots fired. Bright was hit in shoulder. Got separated in woods. Bright is MIA.**

Before she hit send, a shot rang out in the direction of the trees. She fell to the ground and waited. From the sound of it, it couldn’t have been more than a half mile away. Dani added to the text while prone.

**Shot fired somewhere in woods. If you get this, I’m going that direction. -Dani**

She hit send, stuffed the phone in her back pocket, and prayed that there was still someone there to read it. Then, Dani slowly stood, flashlight in hand, and headed back into the woods. 

* * *

Sound returned first, but he couldn’t distinguish the words being spoken. Everything was muffled, as though his head were buried in sand. An intense tingling, the pins and needles feeling, was slowly receding from his extremities. Malcolm tried to lift his head, but the command got lost between his brain and his neck. At least his eyes were listening. After a herculean effort, they gradually opened, although keeping them that way was a struggle. 

His shoulder ached, a constant shooting pain radiating from the wound outward. As his eyes focused, he took stock of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be the living room of an old house. The only light came from a side table lamp next to a chair, coloring the room in a yellow filter. The couch was old and dry rotting. He could hear a voice more clearly now; they were on the phone, though still speaking too softly to make out what was being said. 

For the first time, Malcolm looked down at himself. He was seated in a wooden chair with arms and was zip tied to it at the wrists and ankles. He pulled at them, knowing full well that they weren’t going to budge, but he couldn’t resist the urge nonetheless. As soon as he did, his left shoulder screamed at him, a new blaze of agony surging from the wound. The house smelled musty, like it hadn’t been inhabited in years. A layer of dust a half an inch thick corroborated that theory. 

The phone conversation in the adjacent room ended and Malcolm sat up, attempting to look as unfazed as possible by both his surroundings and the still-seeping hole in his shoulder. The footsteps stopped behind him, but he kept his gaze forward, refusing to show weakness.

“Malcolm Bright.” 

A man with broad shoulders and light hair stepped out in front of the profiler, then crouched down to meet his eye-line. His smile was so genuine that, given any other circumstance, it would’ve been heart-warming.

Bright’s voice was still groggy when he spoke, “Adam.” 

Adam Reynolds straightened up and opened his arms wide, as though he was greeting a much-anticipated guest, “Welcome to your reckoning.” 


	5. Chapter 5

The man leaned against the rough bark of the tree, concealing his body. She was about fifty feet away, parallel to his position. He watched her every move through a pair of night vision binoculars. Her gun was raised as she crept through the trees and underbrush, stopping periodically whenever she heard a nocturnal creature disturb the woodland floor. 

_You can’t shoot what you can’t see_ , he mocked internally. 

He’d been tailing her since that partner of hers hit the treeline. Malcolm wasn’t his focus. All he had to do was clip him for Reynolds. That mission was easily accomplished. This one… well, this mission was far more enjoyable. The cop wasn’t his usual type, but he’d have to be blind to miss the fact that she was very attractive. Her face was pretty enough, but it was nothing compared to her body. She hid it well under her work clothes, but any fool could see the curves beneath those jeans. From what he could tell at the “shootout” she was feisty too. Even better. 

An owl hooted from a tree between them and he watched as Dani immediately whipped around, gun aimed. Once she realized what it was, she turned back around and continued forward. The man did the same, slowly matching her steps. Cataloging her every move and tendency, like a predator stalking its prey. 

* * *

Gil and JT leapt out of the SUV before Agent Coe could even put it in park. They rushed to get their vests on so they could move in quickly. The op had been meticulously planned and the other vehicle should be here any second. They deliberately parked on the side of the road, so as to not alert the suspects by pulling into the driveway. A few minutes passed. The second car should’ve been there by now.

“Powell, what’s your ETA?” Gil asked via his earpiece. “Powell? Bright? What’s your ETA?” 

JT stared at his boss, concern written all over his face. “Something’s not right.” 

“No it’s not,” he ran his hand down his face and over his goatee, “but we have to handle this first.” The lieutenant jerked his head in the direction of the house. 

Agent Coe nodded and led the way as they hurried down the drive and up to the house. JT rushed around the back to make sure no one attempted an escape. 

“FBI, open the door!” 

When no one answered, Gil tried the handle: it was open. “Door’s unlocked. Could be a set up.” The two men entered the home tentatively, the lieutenant veering off to check the upstairs while the Agent took the first floor. 

After a few moments of silence, JT got impatient. “How’s it looking in there?” the detective asked. 

“Second floor is clear,” Gil replied, retreating back down the stairs. 

Agent Coe agreed, “First floor is too.” 

“Another decoy?” JT holstered his weapon and started back around the house. 

Gil answered first, frustration coloring every word, “Looks that way.” 

He and Agent Coe exited the house and met JT in the front yard. “Always one step ahead,” Coe complained, rubbing his temples with his fingers. 

The lieutenant nodded, “And I have a feeling our missing car has something to do with that. Let’s go.”

* * *

Malcolm simply stared at Adam Reynolds, mentally preparing for whatever tortures were to come. If the final victim was any indication, this was not going to be pleasant. 

His captor took a deep breath, soaking in the moment and all that it entailed, “I have waited four years for this. For four years, I sat in a prison cell with nothing to do but contemplate how I’d get my revenge,” he squatted down in front of Malcolm, “my justice, if I ever got the chance.” Adam leaned in close, examining the wound in his shoulder with sincere interest. “That looks incredibly painful. Did it go all the way through?” 

Bight refused to respond, to give him any satisfaction. 

Reynolds continued as though nothing bothered him at all, “I’ve never seen a bullet wound up close. Is it true the exit wound is almost double the size of the entry?” As he asked the question, he stood and walked dramatically behind Malcolm, “It really is,” then returned to face him. “Based on that shirt, I’m guessing you lost a lot of blood. Feeling a little light headed? A little woozy?” He checked the profiler’s eyes as though he were performing concussion protocol. “See, I really need you to be alert for this.” 

Adam’s hand shot forward, grabbing Bright’s shoulder and he squeezed, pushing his thumb as hard as he could into the wound. Malcolm inhaled a stuttered gasp and he closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth and bit his lips closed, doing everything he could to keep from screaming in pain. 

Reynolds watched his face with pure joy, reveling in every single second of Malcolm’s anguish. When Bright refused to give him the reaction he was looking for, that lighthearted-joy quickly turned to ire. Adam pulled his now blood-stained hand away and used it to punch the profiler in the face. Malcolm’s head whipped to the side and he saw spots again in his peripheral vision, this time for a different reason. Reynolds hit him a second time, busting Bright’s lip in the process. 

“You ruined my life!” Adam yelled, punching Malcolm a third time before stumbling back and shaking out his hand. The left side of Bright’s face was on fire and he spit blood onto the floor beside him. “She left because of you! My fiancé left, before the trail even began. She came to visitation with her asshole brother to tell me it was over.”

The profiler watched as Adam became more and more frantic, as the anger kept building. The profiler’s eyes were squinted. His entire head was an orchestral timpani and his pulse controlled the mallet. 

“You want to know the last thing she said to me?” Adam bent down in front of Malcolm and screamed so loud it made his ears ring, “DO YOU?!” 

Bright looked up at his captor with remorse in his eyes. 

Reynolds whispered, “The last thing she said to me was. ‘I’ll never tell this child who his father is.’” 

Malcolm lowered his gaze, genuinely contrite for his actions. 

“Oh no. Look at me!” Adam grabbed his neck and turned his head, forcing their eyes to meet. 

“I’m truly sorry.” Bright’s apology felt pathetic, even as it exited his mouth. 

“Oh, you’re sorry.” Reynolds stood and threw his hands up, “Well that changes everything! That just magically reverses the fact that the woman I love AND MY CHILD are out there somewhere and I’ll never see them again. I’ll never know my own son. Because of you! My job, my life, my friends. All gone. BECAUSE OF YOU!”

As if a switch flipped, Adam’s rage disappeared. Malcolm was smart enough to know that this change didn’t bode well for him. 

Reynolds knelt in front of him again and inhaled deeply before continuing, “You took everything from me, Malcolm Bright. And now I’m going to take everything from you.” 

He reached out and ripped the profiler’s shirt open. Then he pulled a knife identical to the ones used in the murders and brought the point to Bright’s chest. Slowly, Reynolds pushed on the weapon. Malcolm tensed, as the knife finally broke through, slicing his skin as it moved. For a split second, he was shocked that it was indeed moving; he’d assumed the goal was to stab him in the heart. That shock was cut short by his own screams. 

Adam continued to glide the knife, ripping through the skin as he went. Malcolm tried to scoot the chair backward, anything to get away from the pain. Reynolds grabbed on to the back of it, and kept going. Malcolm continued to cry out in agony, his breaths coming in gasps. The blood ran down his torso and was pooling on his pants. Until suddenly the torture stopped. 

Bright’s eyes shot open, both relieved and incredibly confused. He was out of breath, panting as though he’d been doing sprints. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked his hair. Gradually, Malcolm found the will to look down at his chest. A square had been cut into it, one not unlike the holes cut in the victim’s chests. Blood oozed from the lurid wound. Given the amount he’d already lost, that was going to be a problem. Every time he took a breath, the square of torn flesh stretched, renewing the agony afresh. 

Reynolds stepped back and admired his artistry, “That will do for now,” then disappeared into the kitchen. In his absence, Malcolm attempted yoga breaths to try and calm himself. Panted breathing and a quick heart rate were his enemies at this point. Despite the severity of the pain, he had to try and find a way to slow it down. 

Adam returned with a clean knife and sat it on the end table by the couch. After a moment’s pause to appreciate his handiwork again, he rubbed his hands together, “On to phase two.” 

_Wonderful,_ Malcolm thought. He was exhausted; both the intensity of the pain and the blood loss were taking a major toll on him already. For once, all his body wanted to do was sleep. But this type of sleep was something he had to fight. 

Reynolds paced back and forth in front of the chair, his fingers pressed against his lips in deep thought. Then out of nowhere, he asked, “Where’s that partner of yours?” 

The profiler glared up at him, silently. 

“You know, the pretty one.” 

_Not gonna happen._

“What was her name again?” 

Malcolm continued to look him in the eye, definitely.

Adam chuckled, “I assumed you’d be uncooperative.” He walked over to the same end table that the knife lay atop, “Like I said, I had a long time to plan,” and opened the drawer. From it he pulled a syringe. He very dramatically pulled off the cap and squirted some of the contents, to ensure no air was left inside it. Then, he made his way behind Malcolm’s chair. This time the profiler turned his head as far as he could to see what Reynolds was doing. As his captor brought the needle toward his neck, Bright jerked as much as his restraints permitted, to prevent him from injecting whatever contents it contained. The rapid movement of his chest was agonizing, but necessary. Adam pulled back and paused for only a second before wrapping his left arm around Malcolm’s neck, pinning his head to the side.

The needle pricked, but the contents were relatively smooth as they entered his bloodstream. Malcolm waited for the onset of some type of high. None came. A dense fog floated swiftly into his mind, muting his psyche, confusing his thoughts. But no high followed.

“Sodium Pentothal,” Reynolds clarified, as he watched the symptoms settle in. 

_Shit._

His captor smiled, “I take it from that look, you know what it does.” 

Without even registering that he was talking, Malcolm responded, “Truth serum. Well not technically, it can’t force you to tell ‘the truth’, but it suppresses the higher cortical functions, which makes it almost impossible to fabricate a response.”

 _Dammit._

Adam’s smile grew, already pleased with the effects, “It does indeed.”

Malcolm racked his brain for a way to counteract the drug. But his higher order thinking skills were all but obliterated. 

_Focus on something distracting._

“Let’s try this again.” 

_There are approximately 115 species of parakeet known to man,_ he recited, desperate to keep himself from answering anything. _The rarest is the orange fronted parakeet, native to New Zealand._

“Where’s your partner, Malcolm?”

Through the fog, Dani’s face appeared in his mind. He felt her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that they would catch Reynolds.

_No. Distract!_

_Types of parakeets include: Alexandrine, Budgerigars--_

“She survived the wreck, I know that.” 

Again she appeared. This time he could hear the terror in her voice as she asked “Where?!” while searching frantically for his wound. Bright grunted and shook his head, trying to re focus his brain.

\-- _Derbyan, Eastern Rosella, Indian Ringneck--_

Reynolds was enjoying the game. He continued to pace nonchalantly back and forth, gesturing emphatically as he questioned, “What was her name again? Destiny? Denise?” 

“Dani,” Malcolm corrected indignantly. As soon as the word exited his mouth, he growled in anger.

_Seriously?!_

“Ah, Dani,” Adam sing-songed his reaction. “Okay. Where’s Dani? She was with you after the crash.” 

In his mind, Bright saw Dani sprinting ahead of him in the dark. He squeezed his eyes closed in concentration, but mumbled uncontrollably. Thankfully he managed to filter his words just enough to keep them unintelligible.

“Where did Dani go after the crash?” 

Malcolm’s breaths came in labored gasps. The act of fighting the chemicals was physically taxing. More flashes of his partner filled his thoughts, distracting him. 

“We were--”

_STOP!_

_Types of parakeets: Plum-headed, Regent--_

“Where were you?” Adam demanded. 

Again, Bright squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that if he did so hard enough the visions of his partner would disappear. His lips parted, but he quickly slammed them shut. 

“Where did you last see her?” 

Malcolm shook his head. It was getting progressively harder to fight the urge to answer his questions. 

_Come on. Come on. What were you listing again?_

Reynolds was getting impatient, “Where?!” When he got no response, he jabbed his finger into one of the sides of the square cut into the profiler’s chest. Then he raked it through the wound, tracing the shape. 

Bright couldn’t contain his scream. He cried out as Adam’s finger moved through and beneath his skin. Fresh blood spilled out over his abdomen. 

“Tell me where Dani is!” 

The pain annihilated what little concentration Malcolm had and the word escaped before he even processed that he had thought it, “Woods.” 

Reynolds straightened up and wiped his finger off on his pants, once again grinning from ear to ear. He said nothing before walking away into another room and shutting the door. 

Malcolm stared blankly at the wall across from him. His chest was on fire, throbbing with every beat of his pulse. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he’d failed Dani.

_You gave her up. Just like that._

Shame overwhelmed him. Shame and a terror that outweighed all of the physical suffering he had endured. He hung his head, closed his eyes, and silently pleaded with any deity that might exist. 

_Please. Do not let them find her._

* * *

After nearly a half an hour of trudging her way through the trees and undergrowth, Dani was beyond relieved to reach the opposite treeline. About forty feet from where she hid behind a particularly large trunk, stood an old house. Even in the feeble light from the windows, it was obvious that the house was dilapidated. If the inside looked anything like the outside, it could use some serious work. Light filtered through the windows that were in much need of a cleaning and left yellow rectangles on the ground in evenly spaced increments. She carefully tip toed her way toward the house, making sure to stay safely hidden in the shadows and picked a window whose light source was dimmer than the others. While this strategy offered the safest opportunity to get a look inside the house, it also offered the least light with which to see inside. 

The first window was a complete bust; it was practically impossible to see anything inside the room. Clearly there wasn’t anything of importance to note here. The second was easier to see through, but there wasn’t anyone or anything happening in that particular room. 

Dani crept along, keeping close to the side of the house. The third window was fully lit, which meant she was more likely to get intel, but that the risk was far greater. She listened for a moment to see if she could get a feel of how many people were in the room. There was no sound. When she’d waited long enough to be sure, Dani inched up, raising her head only enough so that she could just see over the sill of the window. 

What she saw made her stomach drop. An ice-water chill ran through her the second she laid eyes on Malcolm. It surged from her chest and out to her extremities in an instant. His torso was covered in blood, still dripping from the horrific square that had been cut into his chest. His arms and legs were restrained and his hair dangled in front of his face, as his head hung down. Her mouth ran dry, while she strained to see if his lacerated chest was actually moving. 

_Breathe_ , she anxiously begged. _Breathe._

When he did, she exhaled, far louder than she should have given her position. 

_I’m coming, Bright._

Before she could take a step, Dani heard something rustled behind her. She turned, her gun raised.

And suddenly, everything went black. 

* * *

Malcolm’s head had fallen forward, his chin practically resting on his chest. The rust and iron smell of his own blood was ironically one of the only things keeping him conscious. But conscious didn’t mean anything. Conscious meant not asleep. It did not mean he had any capacity for coherent thought, nor the will to raise his head to the upright position. The utter agony he felt in his chest at this moment had absolutely nothing to do with the wounds he bore or the excessive amount of blood he’d lost.

It was the misery of betrayal. Not betrayal endured. No. Betrayal performed. 

His whole body trembled. Whether it was from the self loathing or the injuries he didn’t know. But the fact of the matter was, he hadn’t been strong enough. He had given Dani up.

As if on cue, the door to his right opened. Malcolm’s head whipped in its direction, as a tall brute of a man stomped through it, a body slung over his shoulders. 

The plethora of dark curls immediately gave her away.

 _Dani_. 

All the air left Malcolm’s lungs in a huff. Then he slowly closed his eyes and bowed his head again, utterly terrified. 

_Fuck._


End file.
